Car 54, Where Are You?

Upon reflection, I should have married Sally Hendricks in high school.

We used to be in drama class together. She was the ultimate hippy chick, from Xenia, Ohio, home of Ball State University. How many times a day do you have to listen to freshmen make jokes about that name each semester?

In drama class we spent the majority of our time creating characters and writing skits for them. During the semester I played a British news reporter on assignment in America, an old man who had escaped from an abusive old folks home, and a goulish mortician. Totally high school, totally derivative, totally faggottry. Sally played hippies (of course), gypsies, and whatever else a girl with naturally curly Jewish hair could play. Later, in college, I was able to parlay my old man character into a part in a reader's theater production in which I played an - say it with me - old man who thought martians were in his walls trying to steal his toilet paper. My one line was, "Come back here with my toilet paper you martian sons a bitches!!"

Years later Sally took a job with some cable tv company or summat. Had to do training on the west coast and then they sent her back down to Tampa for more training. We drove up to Tarpon Springs one weekend and looked at all the sponges. This was before those goddamn Greeks fished them out of existence. We drove up and down the coast and smoked a doob. Then went back to her hotel room and drank Southern Comfort. I didn't even boink her.

Eventually she moved back to Xenia and got married. I don't know where she is now. Our friend Internet is silent on the matter.

I'm obviously gay.
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